


the chariots shall rage

by modernpatroclus



Series: safe & sound [3]
Category: The Iliad - Homer, The Song of Achilles - Madeline Miller
Genre: Alternate Ending, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, patroclus!lives
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-30
Updated: 2016-05-30
Packaged: 2018-07-11 05:11:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7030300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/modernpatroclus/pseuds/modernpatroclus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I should not do this. It is a terrible idea, born of anger and hurt. But it is also of a need to save, to protect the men whose lives have not been lost to the feud between the pride of two men.</p><p>Or: Patroclus takes Achilles' armor and fights without telling him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. no one save me tonight

**Author's Note:**

> another super dramatic and unasked-for alternate ending where Patroclus!lives and everyone makes up because I live to ~~hurt~~ please  
>  all titles come from "In a Jar" by Brand New

Achilles lets Briseis be taken into Agamemnon’s custody. That is the only thought I can pay mind to, and I am so angry with him that I cannot stay in our tent.

I stay with Briseis, hiding away under her covers when Agamemnon or anyone else comes, and during the day I spend every moment in the medical tent, throwing myself into saving everyone I can. I do not let myself see Achilles, and for a few days, he stays away.

But after a week passes in silence between us, he finally breaks and storms Briseis’ tent. I was lucky to have already been under the blankets from Agamemnon’s last visit, so he does not see me.

“You are wasting your time; he is not here.”

“I know he has been staying here.”

“You are shocked that he didn’t want to see you after your little stunt with Agamemnon? You truly do not know him at all.”

Achilles growls at her, but she does not flinch.

“I was hoping he would come to his senses sooner or later. You have never deserved him.”

“Tell me where he is, and I will have you released.”

“I would not give him away when he does not wish to be found. Even for my freedom.”

He looks as if he wants to argue further, but relents after considering her words.

“When he comes back, please tell him I wish to talk.”

He leaves the tent, shoulders hunched. Defeated. More so than a half-god has any right to look.

In that moment, I know he has spotted me. But he respects my wish to stay hidden, so he leaves without another word.

* * *

I should not do this. It is a terrible idea, born of anger and hurt. But it is also of a need to save, to protect the men whose lives have not been lost to the feud between two men's pride.

So I leave Briseis in her tented prison of Agamemnon’s creation, and I return to the tent I share with Achilles. With relief, I see that he is out, probably meeting with his mother down the beach.

I don his armor with shaking hands, from both fear and adrenaline. I will not fight, I tell myself. It is only for the men to believe I am Achilles. They need motivation against the onslaught of Trojans attacking our camp, and the sight of Aristos Achaion alone will be enough.

* * *

The beach is chaos. Spears fly from both sides and miss their targets, striking Greeks and Trojans alike. Sarpedon is dead, but if I do not get away from the battle, I know I will be next.

A spear grazes my arm, hardly misses lodging into my bicep. I whip around, frantically searching for any place of refuge on this raging battlefield. But there is none.

It had taken some convincing for Automedon to take me out without a direct order from Achilles, but I had managed to convince him that Achilles knew. It was cruel, but necessary for my plan.

I run blindly, vaguely in the direction I had left Automedon and the fallen chariot. Another spear flies toward me, and I am running straight to it, too fast to stop, too much forward momentum to dodge. I have time to do little more than close my eyes in an effort to brace myself, when something suddenly hurls into me from the side. I am knocked into the sand and pinned there by a body. I am winded, and it is only when I hear a voice call my name that I can catch my breath and open my eyes.

“Patroclus,” he says. Achilles. The single word holds an equal mixture of relief and worry, and I flinch with guilt, already knowing what he will say next. “Why are you out here? It is too dangerous.” He pulls back from me a bit, supporting himself on his forearms, and inspects my body. He narrows his eyes and meets mine. “Why are you wearing my armor?”

He knows before I answer. “They needed a reason to fight back.” There is steel in my voice, a resolve I had not known I possessed until I threw the first spear.

“ _Patroclus,_ ” he says again, and it is more pained than I expected. I have to look away, but he gently grabs my chin and waits for me to meet his gaze again. His eyes are softer now, the murky green of the ocean. “This is not your fight.”

Anger flares in me at his stubbornness. “It is! These are my people, too! My friends! I have seen enough of them die. I had to do something.”

Now he looks guilty. I do not grant him respite, though. “I asked you to end the feud and to fight. You would not do it even for me. You made your choice. I had to make mine. My life was never prophesied like yours,” I continue, but stop when realization dawns in his eyes.

“Yes, it was! Do you not see? ‘ _The best of the Myrmidons will die.’_ Patroclus, it means you!”

It sounds as ridiculous from him as it had from Briseis. I shake my head. “No, it cannot. I am not–” But again, he cuts me off, a new alarm in him from his epiphany.

“You _are_ the best of my men.” He plows on before I can interrupt. “The most loyal and selfless,” he insists, fiercely, “willing to sacrifice yourself if it means saving others,” with a gesture towards my armor-clad body, gaze catching on the graze wound on my arm.

“Patroclus, that prophecy was meant for you.” His voice has gone grave.

“Then –” I start, but stop. I do not know what to say.

“Then you must get away from here, before it comes true,” he says with new urgency, on his feet before I can blink. He offers his hand, and though I briefly consider ignoring it, still angry over what he let happen to Briseis. But another spear flies by, close to where I still lay in the sand. As soon as Achilles has caught and thrown it in the direction it came from, I take his hand and let him pull me to my feet.

He runs, slower than normal, pulling me along by our still clasped hands. I still cannot make out much in the thick of the chaos around us, but he was made for this. His eyes are sharper than any normal mortal’s in the midst of war, and he spots Automedon trying to right the fallen chariot and soothe the horses. He has just reigned them in when we approach, and he flinches at the sight of Achilles.

“I did not know –” he starts. I cannot see Achilles’ face, but Automedon goes silent at the look Achilles gives him.

“Just get him out of here,” Achilles orders. Automedon nods, a jerky motion fraught with nerves and guilt. If I had died while under his protection and without Achilles’ knowledge, Achilles would have taken out his grief on Automedon.

Guilt hits me again like a wave, for my deceit and for involving him. But there is no time to apologize yet, because spears are still flying and the battle is closing in around us.

As Achilles helps me onto the chariot, he instructs us. “You focus on getting away quickly. I will follow on foot and keep them away.”

He gives me one short but passionate kiss, pressing his forehead to mine for the briefest moment, before pulling away completely. I feel cold where his skin was, and I fight back a shiver as I watch him gather spears from the sand. In the next minute, Automedon is moving, pulling me away from the bloody sands and, hopefully, the prophecy.

 


	2. stones in your eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I see on his face the moment Achilles registers my injury. _“No.”_ His voice is cracked, broken.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ignore the summary; this is just gross fluff

Automedon steers the chariot from the beach, and I am still breathing when we reach the camp. But Achilles was overcome with too many men at one point, and he was without armor. Of course he beat them all, but one managed to land a lucky spear to my chest. It hit me from the front, and Achilles followed from behind.

He does not know yet. Neither does Automedon, too preoccupied with navigating a path through the chaos still ahead.

When Automedon finally stops the chariot and turns to me, he pales impossibly.

I only managed to stay upright out of sheer determination. If Achilles knew there was a problem, he would be distracted, and that would only end in death, in both prophecies coming to light.

I look over my shoulder for Achilles, and I see that he is clear of attackers, making his way to us. Now I allow myself to lean against the side of the chariot, and to look down at my chest.

The wound looks grave. But I have successfully treated wounds just like it many times in the past few weeks. I would be able to treat it, and so can Machaon. As long as we find him, it will be alright.

Achilles reaches us then, and though I had not thought it possible moments before, Automedon’s face is ever paler.

I see on his face the moment Achilles registers my injury. “ _No_.” His voice is cracked, broken.

“I will be fine,” I tell him. But even as I speak, I have to brace myself harder against the chariot. Achilles closes the gap between us in three long strides and grasps my upper arms to hold me upright. I let myself lean into his unyielding strength, relief flooding me despite the agonizing pain in my chest. Achilles is here; I will be fine.

* * *

I do not know how long passes from the time I let my mind go dark as Achilles carried me up the beach, to now, when I open my eyes with a groan, against the white ceiling of the medical tent. But it could not be long, because the small room is fraught with chaos reminiscent of that on the beach.

Achilles sets me down on a cot, as gently as he can, but the movement jostles me, and I turn my face into his chest to muffle my moan of pain. When I am situated, he pulls back and smooths back my hair from my damp forehead, eyes serious and concerned.

Another wave of pain hits me, and again I give in to the darkness pulling me under.

* * *

It goes like this for some time: brief bouts of pained wakefulness, the tent too bright and voices too loud; blurred, restless fits where I am neither alert nor asleep; and impossibly short gaps of blissful darkness, my only respite from the agony in my chest and the heavy exhaustion in my brain.

But finally, after what could be an hour or a week, I manage to stay awake long enough to register the uncomfortable numbness spreading through my chest. I know the salve that must have been used.

Slowly, I push myself up to a half-sitting position. Achilles sits next to me, head pillowed on his arms, resting on the edge of the bed. We are back in our own tent; the medical one must have been too crowded with injured men.

Unbelievably, Briseis sits on my other side. She is awake and watching me with silent, tear-filled brown eyes. When she sees that I am awake, she smiles faintly.

“Agamemnon let you out,” I whisper, so as not to wake Achilles. I wince at my voice, dry and cracked with disuse.

Briseis’ smile deepens, but somehow, it looks more sad. “Achilles sent for me, actually,” she explains. The disbelief must show on my face, because her smile turns to something more light, and she says, “I know. I did not believe it either, at first. I thought it must have been you who sent a false order. But I was taken here by Automedon – he would not leave you – and I knew something was wrong.” She goes quiet then, suddenly interested in the rough linens of the bed.

“Briseis,” I say. She looks up, slowly. “I am okay.”

She laughs, watery and disbelieving. “You could have been killed, Patroclus; you nearly were. You are not fine.”

I muster up the most reassuring smile I can to tell her, “I survived, Briseis. The rest I can deal with.”

“Why do you have to be so noble?” We both turn, startled, to Achilles. We had not realized he woke.

His face, like Briseis’ is full of bittersweet affection. I hurt them both in going out into battle like that, but they care too much to be angry with me. Even the cold war between them seems to have, if not ceased, paused for now.

“I had to do it,” I defend.

“I know,” Achilles says. I raise a brow, and he smirks. “That is why you are so noble – stupidly, I would say, if it were not you.”

Despite their animosity, Briseis laughs. It seems my brush with Death scared them more than I thought.

I roll my eyes and close them, tipping my head back against the pillows as I say dryly, “I do not know why I had to nearly die for the fighting to stop.” Achilles’ hand brushes through my hair, his touch gentle but heavy.

“Because you have always been the best of us, and the thought of losing you brought me to my senses. I was a fool, Patroclus, and I am sorry to both of you that my pride hurt you both.”

I open my eyes slowly, and study his face. He is so beautiful like this – not the cruel mask of stone he had since his feud with Agamemnon began. I am seeing the true Achilles for the first time in far too long.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading and entertaining my delusions!

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed this! part two is already written and will be up soon ~~tbh it's literally only split into two because I couldn't decide between two lyrics for the title so I'm using one for the work and one for the second part~~


End file.
